hi,

for the last four weeks i have been responding to astounding emails from you in response to my letter “releasing cancer” – announcing that i went through cancer in 2011 and how i am coming out of it anew.  it has gotten to the point where i simply must share some of these responses with you and tell you the magical things that are happening from being in touch with you. so here we go, let’s connect some degrees of separation between you and share your inspiring accounts of being human. what i find so amazing is though you each have been through your version of hardship i always hear a sense of love and grace in your writing.  thank you for your enthusiasm in having me share your words with others:

“I was diagnosed with fourth stage bone cancer last December, 2010. After having lunch with a friend, I went ‘public’, he said ‘How can people who love you send positive prayers, wishes and healthy thoughts, if they don’t know you’re sick?’  So I began to share it.  What a relief to let it go.  There was a weight to holding it in and letting go to let God, made me feel lighter. Life has changed drastically.  I no longer stress about finances, bad drivers, rude people, or matters I can’t change.  More and more I just take things in stride.”

-a mean dancer

“I just want to thank you for having the courage to write this and share your truth with me.  I don’t know what to say but it has helped me tremendously see my entire last year as a gift.  I did not get cancer but did go through my own journey and was ashamed and felt that I needed to keep things to myself. I felt humiliated, embarassed, and with my choice had really screwed up my life.  I am breathing and as long as I have life I can continue to start over and move forward. What doesn’t kill you does make you stronger, but I think the stronger part is really about the strength to be – what doesn’t kill you forces you to just be. I also intend to not hide what has happened to me and share it.  Thank you for helping me to see my situation differently!”

-someone who loves unrelentingly

“Cancer! It has been in my life so intensely the past year. It does my heart good to read your email.  My boyfriend Humberto is on a morphine drip in San Diego- dying of bone cancer.  Your email is so timely even comforting as I rail at God.”

-someone who gives women with no voice a voice

“I had a somewhat similar experience with fertility issues – for some reason I felt ashamed that my body wasn’t doing what all my friends’ bodies seemed to do so easily. Like it was some kind of cosmic mark of inferiority or something – sounds silly as I write that but that’s what I found myself feeling. When I finally decided to open up about it I felt like a giant weight lifted from my whole being.”

-someone who teaches others how to make people laugh

“Reading your email brought up a lot of things for me… like how i wish i had reached out to you more, and how you always seemed so vibrant and healthy, and how cancer doesn’t happen to people like us, and how maybe i shouldn’t be mad at my husband so often, and how you never know who is dealing with what, or how long you’ll have them in your life for, and all of that.  Thanks for the reality check and thanks for sharing your story.”

-someone invested in women’s fertility

“I also dealt with cancer this year.  Easy peasy as surgery took care of it.  And it was also a wake up call.  Now I am taking care of myself and looking to be an inspiration to others as I “like an every day Joe” lose weight and get healthy.  My motto is, ‘if Rachel can do it, then I can do it’.”

-someone who teaches others to inspire

“Thank you for writing down just a fraction of the powerful experiences that you have been battling in your heart, mind, and body. This means a lot for me and others to hear, Summer. Your email will always be a reminder to me. Sometimes I have a chip on my shoulder and forget how others are sometimes fighting a hard battle.”

-someone who loves, even when its easier not to

from your emails I see tragedy isn’t personal – it touches us all no matter how well be play our cards – i previously walked through life thinking if i took my vitamins, exercised, ate healthy and treated others as i’d like to be treated that i could avoid illness, injury or tragedy.  in short, I thought if i was “good” that I’d be spared and die quietly in my sleep at the ripe age of 80-something.  i didn’t realize i thought this – if I did i think it would have been easier to go through cancer – but it was a thought living somewhere in the recesses of my mind.  In such cranial shadows, i thought most people were walking around untouched and it was the unlucky few that crashed into the wall of death or disease every so often.  i was used to seeing so many looking fine walking down the street buttoned up and walking swiftly that I figured they must be doing GREAT! now having gone through the mud, and witnessing your responses, i see that life and death are endlessly married.  there is this idea that we are doing life correctly if we are untouched by mistakes, heartbreak, sickness or pain – but i am seeing now that this is an impossible expectation to have.  this is being human and pretending we’re not.  there is no shame in making a choice that does not work out the way we thought it would, there is no shame in battling a disease, there is no shame in dying and there is no shame in living either. sometimes I can even see myself ashamed of having an amazing life that i don’t share what i love about it, how proud i am of myself or how grateful i am.  by virtue of being here you deserve a congratulations.

i suppose the good news is that pain is no failure.  hardship is not a “game-over”, not a sign that you suck at living or that you deserve it and are somehow being punished.  it doesn’t mean any of that.  in fact, it doesn’t mean anything really.  the only thing it could mean is that you have a body that is not meant to last, surprise! the cool thing is that what comes out of it can mean a whole lot – for you and for the people around you.

sometimes perfectly healthy people get really sick and everyone is baffled, “why? why? why?” we look for meaning everywhere.  we rail at god or a doctor or ourselves, but what about the way in which that person’s mortality snaps their loved ones into the present moment? what about that person’s sister who quits her job to do what she’s always wanted to do? what about that friend who slows down to really let his wife know how much he loves her?  and what about all the new found gratitude that person feels for their dad for the first time in years? i am not saying it is easy or fun or good to experience pain, i wouldn’t even wish it on my enemies, but i do choose to be grateful for the gifts of the hardships past.

the flower that is sprouting out of this past challenge is realizing how much control I needed to have over my future and slowly releasing my grip.  now, after a year of being down-for-the-count i’m just starting to lift my head above the debris to find i’m a little more okay with not being in control. yes, I can help steer the boat, but I can’t control the weather.  it’s a daily practice still, but i’m finding that as I release control i’m compelled to share my heart.  like opening up without knowing what will happen as a result.  sending you the previous email revealing i had cancer, was just that. i was terrified of what you would say and what you wouldn’t say. Now, the weight that has lifted and your responses inspire me so – had I wanted to control my words to you, or not send the email, i wouldn’t have received the beautiful and honest responses or opportunities (i.e. i’ve just booked my ticket to go meditate in brazil for a month and a friend and colleague has invited me to come and speak about my experience in front of a congregation at a local synagogue in san francisco).

i am so honored to have this opportunity to share with a large group. i’m realizing that all i want to do it share, share, share…and then share some more.  i must say, it’s not about me being a “cancer survivor”, i don’t identify as that and i don’t intend to speak from that perspective.  i identify as a human being who has encountered her mortality at a young age and has been given an amazing opportunity to share the peace that can come from it.  people who have lost their leg or lost their dream job each know an element of this and i want to speak to that, for it is all an aspect of being human. i’m interested in humanity and our ability to blossom under trying conditions.  it’s our birthright to experience suffering and it’s our birthright to move closer to the light from it.  thank you for sharing with me.  I want you to know that you have catapulted me into a new found joy and courage to live out loud.

love and blessings on your journey,

summer

this is not a private thing any more.  It was when I wasn’t sharing with anyone, but now all i have shared and will share is entirely public. please feel free to send any words i’ve sent to anyone you feel compelled to send them to. if you wanna, subscribe to the blog to automatically receive my letters.

The Wild Bride

last night i sat in the audience of a theater production that used three women to play one role, had the devil as the narrator, drove the story with constant dancing and live music echoing from banjo, guitar, ukulele, violin and crystalline vocals.  yes,  the story’s presentation was something amazing to behold, the lights, the sound, the rhythm, but what struck me most was the subject matter of the play.  there was a point in the beginning of the show where the devil strikes a deal with the father of a young girl and in so doing tricks the father into giving his daughter to the devil.  though the devil cannot have her for she is too pure.  the devil forces the father to cut off her hands in attempt to soil her.  for the remainder of the show the devil attempts again and again to ruin the purity and strength of her soul with tragedy after tragedy, but, of course, the girl-into-lady-into-woman, constantly prevails.  it is the power of the human spirit that we witness in this piece of art and i left the theater seeing the face of this woman in the ladies and gents who walked the rainy berkeley streets.

i got to thinking, why is it that i left the theater seeing this woman’s face in the faces of passersby? there is something so akin to our souls in witnessing another prevail over hardship.  though this connection happened because the story was never only sad, there was comedy, irony, play, curiosity and magic mixed into the show – for never is tragedy only tragedy.  tragedy is an event, or a series of events, but there is always contrast to it and our human nature finds the miracles and the light set so starkly against the dark.  it was the laughter, the comedy, the play woven into the trials that had us able to witness the gravity of that hardship and later the gold in it.

it made me think about myself, going through cancer this past 2011, and coming out of it with more light than i went in with.  it made me think about how there is no one on earth that cannot be touched by hardship, for it is a part of being in a body, being in the world and loving others.  i sat there in the dark theater realizing i had gone through cancer thinking i had done something wrong, as if i believed had i played my cards differently, i would have never had such a tragedy.  but as i watched this young girl dip her hands in two buckets of red paint to symbolize them having been chopped off i realized both she and i didn’t do anything wrong, we experienced grave pain and heartbreak, and… i knew she would come out brighter.  yes, it would break her, break her into thousands of little pieces scattered all across the ground, but she, and the rest of us, are built to piece ourselves back together in a way we never would have grown into without it.  i do not wish tragedy upon anyone, but i am grateful for the tragedy past and what it has given.  pain is not a sign of life being broken or that you messed up, it is a powerful part of being here, it is a sign the world is working, and the beauty is how a human spirit puts itself back together anew.  to love a little more, to smile a little bigger, to say thank you one more time and to say yes to the wild ride of life.

the production i am speaking of is called The Wild Bride (trailer) playing at Berkeley Rep through January 22nd

http://www.berkeleyrep.org/season/1112/5420.asp

hi,

it’s me, summer.  long time no share.  i’ve been through something pretty major and i haven’t shared it with you.  not sharing this thing with people has felt strange for a very long time and so, here i go – this past february 2011 i was diagnosed with cancer and i stopped all creative activity.  since then i underwent radiation therapy and have had scans that say i’m “cancer free”.  i didn’t tell many.  the ones i told were either my family or people i bumped into on the street.  not because i didn’t want you to know, but because i just went into a kind of hermit survival mode.  now, coming out of it and dealing with the emotional debris i think that i was ashamed in some way of having it.  i know – crazy.  but cancer makes people do and feel crazy things. looking back i see i didn’t really know how to include people in this and so i didn’t.

i am finally ready to share.  i see now that i was keeping it all to myself in attempt to control it, kick its ass and make it vanish.  i see now that the fear of sharing it only gives it more power.  i am completing my year with finally connecting with you and revealing myself.  this truly feels like a liberation to me.  it feels like a big step in winning, in growing and really letting cancer be a gift by accepting the storm it brought into my life and acknowledging it happened. until now i’ve been waiting for the moment when i could be done with it, but i never will.  it is something that has flipped me in on myself in a very violent, but profound way and it would be strange for me not to tell you that.

the stats on my diagnosis were stage II lymphoma located in one area of my left lower lymph nodes.  i underwent a bone marrow biopsy that had no cancer in it, fertility preservation, aka my eggs are in a fancy refrigerator, learned how to give myself shots for that and the radiation lasted four weeks with little direct physical difficulty, though i was very tired and towards the end my skin burned severely.  the details are not gruesome like so many who go through chemo, for i only did radiation and thankfully my cancer was highly responsive.  i ate an all alkaline diet from the day i found out about cancer until about the end of treatment (this means all raw, vegan food and no sugars, including any fruit sugars or sweet veggies like beets…).  i meditated every day and did my best to stay calm.  sometimes that was feeling numb, sometimes it was being hopeful, sometimes it was being resolved that cancer was going away, and sometimes it was having outbursts of tears or anger (which looking back, i don’t think i took advantage of enough).  all in all the whole thing was and still is a big emotional trip that has really put a pause button on things – or simply switched my priorities around. i’m still figuring out where my compass is leading me.  dealing with mortality was and is terrifying and awakening.

this leaves me in a place where i don’t know what i want my life to look like for certain, but i do know how i want to feel about it:  full of truth and full of trust. the most important things to me are being present, authentic, powerfully choosing and taking care of my health, enjoyment, slowing down, admiring, being grateful, being in nature, singing, laughing, being still, exercising, creating things i enjoy the creation of as much as i enjoy having completed it, being loving to myself, encouragement, making a positive difference for others (hopefully a lot of others), and listening closely to my inner guidance and following it unrelentingly.

i am not afraid or uncomfortable with sharing about my experience and am fine doing so, but the main point of this email is to take this huge thing that i just went through, that has changed my life forever, and reveal it out in the open air, let it fly away and not be contained inside me like some dark burden i must carry alone.  you don’t need to carry it either – it is simply important for me to tell you it happened – and to publicly acknowledge myself for having gone through it.

thank you for contributing to my life and thank you for reading this email.  i know it may come as a shock, but i only mean it as an act of peace, connection and freedom.  this shit happens, a lot, and it is amazing how we each prevail.  i was fascinated during my treatment process that i could walk down the street and no one knew what was happening in my body or in my heart and that that is true of everyone we pass every moment – the person next to us on the bus could be dealing with a disease or a loved one passing and we would never know.  this makes me want to smile at people more, hold doors for them, and if they are lost, sad, angry or a jerk, to give them the benefit of the doubt – to shine some understanding in their direction, simply because they’re human. we are so privileged in this modern society, but no matter what abundance and conveniences we have it is part of our life to experience trials. it is part of having a body, people we love, and such beauty in our life.  whenever anyone said cliche things like, “if it doesn’t kill you it will only make you stronger” i understood it on a cerebral level and it also always annoyed me.  now, for me it’s not that it makes one only stronger, but also softer, it kind of breaks you open in a way so that light can get in where it couldn’t before.

so here i am, revealed and wishing you the loveliest new year’s holiday – for it’s the only one there is, today, now.  may you have the courage to follow your heart and let the magic of the universe guide you to your greatest and deepest fulfillments, for that’s all it really wants to do.

with deep love, gratitude and a fart joke or two, happy new year.

your neighborhood super hero,

summer

At the time I was crammed into a bathroom stall in the San Francisco airport trying to make sure none of my belongings fell on the floor and that I still had room to… shall I say, descend.  I instantly thought to myself, either this is really good or really bad.  I was my way to New York City for the 2011 APAP NYC Conference
(the biggest conference for performing arts presenters in America) and I was pumped and terrified.  I am so ready for the next step in my professional development — am thrilled to take it — and terrified either 1) I will inadvertently screw it up or 2) will completely succeed.  Now, isn’t that interesting — terrified that people will find out my work is interesting and want to support it.  Hm.  Now, I’ve been known to be a little out there sometimes, but fear of success makes absolutely no sense.  However, it is clear that there’s something like that going on in the back recesses of my mind.

Back to the airport.  I hurried along to the gate, hoping and hoping that they had upgraded me or something amazing, because I was sure if they had bad news for me, it was an omen for the whole trip: I was S.O.L.  So, there I am scurrying down the hall, so sure it will be amazing or horrifying.

I reach the gate.   It turns out they wanted to know if they could move me 3 seats forward, still an isle, just three seats forward so an unaccompanied minor could sit in my seat.  I was dumb struck – it was not good, not bad, it just was.  I did manage to negotiate a free drink out of it, but I realized that there is nothing absolute about this weekend.  It’s not going to be an end all be all.  It is a planting of seeds, a learning experience, a lovely opportunity to jump in, be myself, so a couple great shows and have fun.  There is no losing here, there is no cemented destiny, there are choices, happenings, and then more of it all.  I am really grateful to be here and happy to be jumping in.